TAO OF CAINE
by Neil Davies
Summary: Original series story, can Caine protect a renegade poet from the swollen fists of a martial arts trained mercenary by finding a trace of conscience within the mercenary?


17

TAO OF CAINE

They rode hard and fast, their horses sweating and foaming with effort as hooves tore up the dusty trail or what was left of it. Faces set with determination the men kicked hard at their steeds, urging them to even greater effort. There was no time to lose; this had to be done now. The leader of the riders wiped mud from the cruel scar that ran down his left cheek with a deformed hand; its knuckles swollen to twice normal size.

Bigger than the other men he was powerfully built with a cruel glint in his eyes hinting at a lack of mercy and a lack of many other human qualities to. Dressed in a long brown coat and high boots he didn't seem to possess a gun, at least none was visible on either his person or his horse.

The other men were armed and the hungry malice on their faces told a tale of determination, greed and a willingness to do anything their leader wanted.

Finally they reached a sign which said something in Chinese but not English; only then did they let their horses rest. Moving up alongside the sign the leader suddenly kicked out with his left boot shattering the crude wooden construction; this was the place so this was where the man they sought would be.

Check your weapons the leader said with a glance, we can't afford to make any mistakes or give this guy a chance to elude us.

The men rode on, hollering now with anticipation.

Wu put down her shovel and glanced up as if catching a scent on the wind or the merest sound, tired and thirsty she looked at the ground she had turned over it was pale and arid with just a few big rocks in it and not much else. The figure behind her who had just come to a halt was studying her back with interest, with a coy grin she turned to look at him.

"You shouldn't be doing this in your state," he said in a soft, caring voice.

"I've another month to go at least," Wu replied patting her stomach, although her own mother had often been early and it seemed to run in the family.

"It's too hot to work today," said the man who was only slightly older with handsome, even features and a thick mop of hair.

"Any excuse to stop working, eh Chen," the girl mocked but light heartedly in truth she wasn't enjoying her chores much either. The punishing July sun was a merciless tyrant; did it never rain out here?

"Let's get some shade," Chen mused, "I'm sure Ling doesn't want us to collapse with heat stroke."

At the mention of Ling's name the girl lost her smile it was as if a dark rain cloud had fallen over her happiness. Picking up on this Chen offered her a supportive squeeze, "Let's check out the barn," he said, "It should be deserted now."

But he was wrong there was a figure sat on some straw with his back to them, his legs lightly crossed and head erect with both eyes shut. He looked as though he was asleep and didn't move a muscle as the two youngsters entered, Chen waving Wu quiet so he could sneak up on the man. Finding a broom handle Chen held it in both fists as he crept ever closer, his back hunched and eyes narrowed; his strong muscles rippling.

Once he was close enough he swung the broom up high and brought it down hard.

A single hand shot up and caught the broom easily, arresting its trajectory and causing Chen to stumble off balance. Landing on his back he let out a roar of laughter and shook his head. See, said his glance to Wu; what did I tell you?

Also giggling the girl moved alongside the seated man, how did he do these things where had he learned them?

Then she saw the burn on the raised arm, it was seared into the flesh permanently – a coiled dragon symbol of spiritual growth.

"Oh my god," the girl muttered catching Chen's eye and waving him over, "Have you seen this?"

Joining her, the labourer squinted at the burn, "That must have hurt," he said, "How did you get it?"

Slapping his arm the girl gave him a withering look, didn't he know anything didn't he recognise the mark of a priest when he saw it?

"You are a holy man," she sold the seated figure who turned and uncoiled his legs smoothly saying nothing merely offering a shrug like his status where of no real importance; not here not now.

"Is that true," asked Chen clearly impressed.

Caine stood up gracefully the movement sinewy and effortless despite the baking heat, Wu noticed he wasn't even sweating. Glancing at her swollen belly he gave a slight knowing smile, "one more week," he said whispering the words and Wu frowned in wonder; how could he possibly know that?

"I've got another month to go," she objected but Caine shook his head, then his head rose a fraction and he looked through the barn door, "Horses," he said, "Five of them," he gathered up his ruck sack and jacket with impressive speed.

"Why would anybody come out here," Chen objected, "The townsfolk leave us alone."

Caine sighed, these were not men from any town, not men of a sort these two youngsters had encountered before. But he had met such men and he knew what they brought with them.

"We must hurry," he said, "The others must be told."

Ling knocked the dregs from his pipe onto a dirty saucer and regarded his two companions, unlike him they were a coloured man and an Indian girl; outcasts from normal society as indeed was he. Ling attracted such people he always had but never before had he gathered them into a community of like-minded souls normally he had students; followers.

The man Brady had just made a forceful point and the girl Two-Feathers was nodding in agreement but Ling gave them both a disgusted look. Both gave up too easily in his view, they should try living under the heel of the Manchu Dynasty and see how they liked that; America was soft by comparison not easy exactly but freer.

"Why should we leave here," he threw back at them, "We're doing nothing wrong and where else can we go that affords us so much? Here we have food, water, shelter and work. Nobody bothers us or questions our right to be on this land."

Spitting into the dirt with disgust Brady shrugged his massive stevedore shoulders, "Is that any wonder," he said sourly, "Who'd want this dust bowl anyway?"

Two-Feathers, a pretty girl in her late twenties placed a soft hand on a hard bicep as if to calm the man she'd grown to love, he certainly treated her better than any white or red man ever had.

"We should go north Ling to pastureland, the ground is more fertile and the climate easier."

Having thought of that the Mandarin shook his head but before he could speak Caine entered. Caine bothered him and not just because the brands on his arms and what they signified.

Normally serene to the point of detachment the priest now had a vibrant urgency; Ling did not need to ask if anything was wrong because that was obvious.

"Riders," Chen blurted out, "Five of them."

So the old man almost asked then he locked eyes with Caine and saw in them a story of honour and horror of revenge and redemption.

"You," said Ling.

Caine shrugged, "All of us," he panted.

Going over to a cupboard Brady yanked it open to pull out an old repeater rifle wrapped in a union jacket, during the war he had fought for Lincoln.

At once Caine was beside him still and silent, disapproving and earnest. Brady flinched, why did this guy hate guns so much guns equalled survival; at least they had during the war and for some the war had never ended? Touching the barrel of the gun gently Caine didn't try to snatch it off the Negro but nor did he look ready to let him use it.

"We have to fight," Brady snarled his spittle dampening Caine's features, "If you don't fight for what's yours they just take it off you."

Caine's eyes misted over.

_In the market place where traders mixed with whores and soldiers stood alongside monks two figures walked slowly together, one elderly the other a young boy a novice. But this was no ordinary novice, his skin was the wrong tint his eyes were too wide._

_Glancing around in wonder and fear the boy kept close to his master, startled by sudden shouts and crashing noises._

_Suddenly things got worse, a couple were dragged out of their home by roughians who laughed viciously and pawed at them; shoving the man around and touching up the woman. The imperial soldiers did nothing; with grins on their faces they just watched glad of some amusement to lift their boredom._

_Help us shone the eyes of the young woman and young Caine's heart reached out to her with pity, this was dreadful, two innocent people were being victimized for no good reason by drunken layabouts and thieves too idle to find work._

_The man took a punch that downed him and the oafs began to rifle his clothing for coins._

"_Master," Caine pleaded but Kan held him back with a gentle pressure of the hand and a stern disapproving look. Not understanding Caine felt outraged and ashamed, this was clearly wrong and must be fought why else did they train so vigorously at the temple?_

_Kicked as he lay on the dirt the young man moaned with pain, when his wife tried to intervene she was grabbed by her hair and pulled off balance. Eyes filled with lust as they washed over her nubile form, for she was a beauty and these men clearly hadn't experienced much of that recently._

"_We must help them," Caine protested but still Kan held him back. Then swiftly the old priest approached the violent scene; he bowed to the oafs as if they would respect such courtesy then offered a smile. It was meant with suspicious and contemptuous glares._

"_On your way priest," barked the biggest man, "There are no alms for you here just the fruits of young flesh."_

_He was joined in his merriment by the other rough necks._

_Caine caught his breath, his heart was in his mouth. Kan was a small feeble looking man, these bullies were thick necked and brawny characters as they now surrounded him. Yet calmly, dispassionately Kan glanced down at the kicked man then the rest of the ground, "You have lost a great treasure," he suddenly announced, "You have dropped it here."_

_At once the men checked their pockets and belts angrily then they sank to the earth to explore it for coins._

_Swiftly Kan motioned for the man and wife to make their escape whilst the attackers were distracted. Throwing Kan a smile of thanks the woman helped her husband to his feet and guided him away._

_The leader of the oafs gazed up, "There is no money here priest, what are you walking about; hey come back old man?"_

_Looking down sadly Kan responded, "The treasure I spoke of was not money but your humanity, which you were so quick to squander."_

Holding onto the gun barrel Caine met Brady's fierce gaze and said in a calm but penetrating tone, "When you become a savage the battle is already lost," Taking the gun easily he laid it aside. Glancing at it Brady threw the others a look of despair but they had nothing to say; for they could all now hear the approaching hoof beats.

"What are we to if not fight," Chen demanded?

"There is a cave leading through the mountain behind us," Caine told him and Ling stared at the man, was this true, and if it was how could Caine a newcomer know of it?

"We will not just run away like cowards," said Two-Feathers. Caine's response was to gaze at the swollen belly of Wu,

"Life is too precious to waste on an empty gesture," he said and this was the winning argument for Ling.

"I agree," He announced, "Chen, Brady; take the women away from here. If there is a cave then use it to escape."

Not happy about this Chen turned to the old man who had become like a father to him, "Only if you come with us Ling."

"My place is here," said the old man, "I'm sick of running away, it's cost me so much already – my home, my family, my country," hands parted miserably, "This is where I make my stand, eventually all men must do so." His eyes flicked to Caine knowing that this tall stranger would not be leaving with the others.

"But they'll kill you," Wu pleaded, "You can't let them not a poet and thinker of your gifts."

Touched Ling waved this aside, if it was his karma to die here today then so be it; no one escaped their destiny.

"Please go now, you are the mother to a special child; don't let her first breaths be tainted with violence."

To Brady and Chen he urged haste; the riders were almost upon them and would have guns. It was Chen who turned to Caine with one question on his lips the priest answered it with a slight shake of the head.

"What are we to do," asked Two-Feathers, "Without your guidance?"

It was Caine who answered in his simple humble style, saying so much with so few words, "All wisdom comes from within."

"I don't see the wisdom in staying here and getting killed," Brady argued, "In not using a gun if you have one."

Ling closed his eyes for a moment as if summoning some great reserve of patience then he said, "We are defined by our compassion not our cruelty, is this not what I have taught you all; no go quickly."

The riders yanked their steeds to a halt in a spray of dust and pebbles, some of which rolled to Caine's feet yet he did not flinch nor did he cough despite a murky cloud of filth that coated him with a patina of grey. The leader of the men (the hunters), glared not at him but the figure stood next to him – slight and grey bearded with sunken watery eyes Ling the poet, Ling the outcast and now Ling the wanted criminal.

"I am Yang," said the leader of the mercenaries, the only one of them to be Chinese the others were American yet like their leader they oozed violence. Caine could sense the heat they generated because like all violent men they were dominated by the element of fire, it sat in their bellies ready to erupt like a volcano.

Yang sat up straight in his saddle, "I've come for you Ling," he announced, "You have been accused of sedition and must face the consequences."

Meeting the intimidating gaze of the man Ling showed no fear only acceptance.

"I am only guilty of writing the truth as I see it," he said simply.

Yang spat on the dry earth making his feelings on the subject clear, "I've not read your scribbles old man, the Manchu's have paid me to collect you dead or alive; so which is it to be?"

Not moving a muscle the poet just gazed back at the illiterate thug on the horse, all his life he had been bullied by men like this. Losing patience Yang gestured, all four of his hired men dismounted and strode forward.

That was when Caine also moved, positioning himself between them and their target. Now Yang paid him more attention, Caine didn't look much just a scrubby drifter but it was the eyes that told a different story, they shone with intelligent, culture and a startling lack of fear.

The hired men paused not sure how to handle this, they looked up at Yang having not anticipated this.

"What are you waiting for," the mercenary barked, "Nobody interferes with imperial business."

But raising a hand Caine gained everyone's attention, "If you have not read this man's work how can you judge it or him?"

The simple logic of this question confused the riders, none of them had ever asked it or even thought it; all they saw was a pay off.

"We follow orders," Yang spat.

"Can you not follow your conscience," Caine challenged.

"I do what I'm paid to do half-breed, now get out of the way."

"But are we not given eyes so that we may see, ears so that we may listen; a mind so that we may question?"

These words bothered Yang they unsettled him because they reminded him of his long dead mother and the kind of things she would come out with, much to the contempt of Yang's brutish drunken father. Yang had hated the old man but in many ways had become a lot like him – coarse and uncaring, a beater of women and a killer of men.

Caine reminded Yang of what he'd lost and this was an unbearable knot of pain in his chest.

"Get the poet," he ordered breaking eye contact with Caine.

Vargas made to shove Caine out of the way, his arm pumped forward strongly but instead of making contact with the priest's chest it somehow went past him, its wrist caught easily and twisted in a way that caused excruciating pain. Only using his thumb and forefinger Caine put the big man on his knees and held him as easily as a child with the simple Aikido technique. This freed the Shaolin Master to deal with the other men.

His right heel smacking onto the jaw of Hennessey and dumping him on his back several yards away, the same foot slammed into McKenzie's solar plexus doubling him over then it came back and chopped its arch into the throat of Vargas sending him to the dirt.

Pulling a knife Rimmer stabbed down at the China man's chest, or at least he did until crossed forearms arrested the motion of his arm in a perfect X block. Pivoting on his left foot Caine drove his right knee roundhouse style into the rider's floating ribs with stunning force, then using the man's blocked arm as a fulcrum threw him cross buttock to the ground; ending the move with a hammer fist strike to the nape of the neck.

Hennessey grabbed Caine's left shoulder intending to turn him onto a punch with 220 pounds of muscle behind it, but Caine did not turn he bent his knees and sank downwards grabbing his opponent by the ankles and upending him, causing him to pitch backwards and brain himself.

Recovering his wind McKenzie charged forwards like a wild boar, a tactic that had worked in bars from Kansas to Carolina. But to his amazement Caine leapt into the air right over him, spun in mid air and kicked him to the butt. Increasing speed and now out of control McKenzie slammed head first into a boulder and knew no more.

Having watched the brief but extraordinary fight, Yang looked at the four bodies now littering the ground. Four good men he had been told, tough and ruthless; reliable in a scrap. He squinted at their conqueror, a man of speed and stealth, skill and courage.

Slowly he dismounted to face this man and raised his deformed hands, "See these mister do you know what they signify?"

Eyes took in the swollen knuckles and a memory flooded to the surface of Caine's mind.

_Placed around the courtyard were wooden beams and attached to these the boy Caine saw bean bags bloated with materials he could not see, monks were striking these bags with their hands using the various techniques of the temple like the sun fist, the willow leaf palm and the crane's beak._

_The students were older than Caine, some in their teens some older still. Occasionally they were stood and rub their hands with some kind of juice that stank of herbs and leaf, this would be massaged into their fingers, knuckles and palms then they would resume their training often with more vigour._

"_Master, what is happening here," Caine asked of his guide a man stood to one side of him balanced on a stick his sightless eyes opaque and milky yet his features vibrant with awareness?_

"_What do you see," asked Po challengingly?_

"_Monks hitting bean bags with great force."_

_Smiling the blind priest inclined his head once, "A form of practice would you not agree Grasshopper."_

"_But what is in the bags is it rice?"_

"_For the novice rice is acceptable," agreed Po, "The more advanced disciples are hitting gravel, stones even ball bearings."_

_Caine was appalled, "But won't this damage their bones and tendons?"_

"_Just so," the blind man agreed, "But if a special medication is applied at regular intervals to stimulate bone growth and circulation such problems can be avoided and the hand will never lose its shape or dexterity."_

_Young Caine nodded at the wisdom of this, "Yet I have seen warrior's whose hands are ugly and monstrous, misshapen like the claws of a beast."_

_Po was smiling at this observation like he to had seen such abuse, "These men do not understand that power must be cultivated carefully with great skill, they pound their hands against wood and stone thinking that brute force is enough. It rarely is grasshopper, strength and compassion must go together like stem and root. The absence of one is frequently the demise of the other."_

Throwing his long coat aside Yang inflated his chest then raised the massive mutilated hands, "You see these," he bellowed, "Ten years of hitting the makiwara the wooden post, now I can strike any man and feel nothing."

Caine was serene, he waited; his own hands normal in shape and texture.

"You are soft," Yang told him, "All you have are a few tricks."

It was left to Ling to counter this argument, "He is a shaolin priest, on his arms he bears the dragon and tiger; you would do well to remount your horse and leave us in peace."

A thick finger stabbed in the poet's direction, "I shall deal with you later old man after I have broken this slender sapling into twigs."

"Perhaps," said Caine, "It is your heart that is calloused not your hands."

Yang recalled his mother saying that to his father after another beating, he could see her now lying in a puddle of blood and see himself running to her to offer comfort. His father had been contemptuous calling him soft, Yang had vowed then never to be soft again.

Caine had spoken of conscience, Yang felt his own jab at him; he thrust it aside with an effort and attacked. He kicked and lunged expecting to land the opening blows and overpower Caine, after all he usually did battering men into submission with all the fury of the child he had once been.

But the blows were evaded, Caine moving his head aside out of the way of the outsized knuckles. With a fierce kiai shout Yang chopped at Caine's neck then threw a punch at his heart, one knuckle extended to make the blow even more lethal. Palming it aside Caine spun, took a step, elbowed Yang in the spine then tripped him.

There was nowhere else to go but the ground and Yang struck it with a grunt, his neck and back jarred painfully and head cut by small sharp pebbles.

Kicking up from the floor Yang landed his first telling blow, a side thrust kick to the belly that sent his rival tottering away winded. Encouraged by the success and feeling that the tide had turned he got to his feet, took a step forward and kicked again.

Caine fell with a gasp; he rolled, tried to get up but took a third kick to the ribs. Too hell with having a conscience thought Yang as primitive excitement consumed him along with the lust to kill.

Caine got up but only to take a punch on the jaw that weakened him further and Yang flexed his left hand into a tiger's claw to deliver the final, fatal strike. He would rip this man's throat out.

"Stop," the voice startled him for it didn't belong to the old man, he turned and saw a young black man, a Chinese man, an Indian girl and….oh my god.

Wu stood there, hands clasped on her swollen belly. Yang blinked in disbelief, she looked exactly like his mother had, pregnant with a brother or sister on the day she died.

Father had been in yet another drunken rage but worse than ever before, he went totally insane and instead of using his fists he picked up an axe.

"Stop," Wu repeated her command and Yang shook with emotion, tears stung his eyes and he lowered his hands making them relax. "Why are you doing this," Wu cried, "Have you lost your mind?"

Head shaking Yang could do nothing but stare at the girl, ripe with a new life perhaps a boy not unlike the child he had once been. He tried to speak to refute her but he couldn't.

I've come for the old man he wanted to say, they paid me good money to find him; but he didn't say this he didn't say anything he stood there and hung his head in shame.

Hurt but not badly so Caine walked passed his opponent and over to Ling, no fire came from the hunter; his inner flame had spluttered and gone out.

"Those who wound others are themselves first wounded," Caine said adding, "But it is never too late for the original wound to be healed. Let this man join you, learn from you; for he to is a lost child."

Ling was astounded by this idea; he looked at the others and they to seemed amazed by the proposal. Saying no more Caine went inside to collect his things, he now knew why he'd come here in the first place and that it was time for him to leave.

If you enjoyed this story why not read BLIND EYE, THE SAGE AND THE FOOL, INNER STRENGTH, HEAL THYSELF and DRAGON AND TIGER.

All can be found on this website, or you can contact me for details.

Kwai Chang Caine will return soon.


End file.
